Chapter 09
Liam gets to the bottom of the matter
Liam's eyes slowly opened. In the dawn light he made out the wood planks upon the cabin ceiling; he heard the subdued lapping of water against the hull. He pushed himself to sitting. His head was pounding and his stomach felt dodgy. Jesus! How much had he drunk? Sliding cautiously out of the berth he took up the water pitcher and had a long drink. Moving with great deliberation, he set it upon the desk, then began searching through a locker till he found a vial of willow bark tincture. He poured some in the water pitcher, sloshed it about, and drank the rest of the water.
The main cabin was deserted when he went to refill the pitcher. With bleary eyes he looked at Anya's closed cabin door --- his mind in a fog. Back in his cabin he filled the basin with water and proceeded to wash himself; the cold water and rough, soapy cloth a small restorative.
Grabbing his blanket and the water pitcher, he went topsides to rinse in the lake. The cold plunge cleared the fog, but he still felt ill when he climbed back aboard and wrapped himself in the blanket. He drank another pitcher full of water, then lay upon the cockpit seat, his eyes closing against the pain in his head; the cool breeze touched his face.
He woke again several hours later. The sun was full risen. 'Twas nigh ten o'clock he realized, sitting up stiffly. He could not remember the last time he had woken so late. The little cove was empty save for the
Selkie
serene upon her anchor line. Glancing down the open companionway he saw no sign of activity below.
With the blanket draped round his shoulders he stepped onto the side deck and emptied his bursting bladder overboard. His cock was tender to the touch --- indeed his whole pelvis felt battered. His body otherwise was largely restored to a sound state; however, his heart was in acute misery.
How had the passage of a mere six days thrown his life into such turmoil?
He sat upon the cockpit coaming and stared out over the water. In the morning sunlight, the reds, oranges, and yellows of the trees along the shore were a brilliant sight, interrupted by white slashes of birch trunks. 'Twas one of Liam's favorite spots upon the lake, but it offered him no comfort.
With the wind direction and speed, they would arrive in Toronto in under three hours. Three hours. Then she would be gone...gone from his life forever.
The events of the previous night weighed upon him. No matter how much her revelation had stung, he was profoundly disturbed at his own behavior. Although he imbibed only occasionally, he was no novice when it came to strong spirits; however even on his most debauched bender in the navy, he had never acted the lout. What the devil had possessed him? He had used her ill and had done nothing to recommend himself to her. She was just a wee innocent girl, beset by ruthless men desperate to have her. He had wanted to be her champion... had he now sunk to their level? 'Twas no wonder she had fled, most likely in horror.
Shite! Three hours --- he had to think --- there had to be a way.
He went below and lit the stove to heat water. He dressed and set about putting his cabin back in order, stowing the whiskey bottle, tidying the desk, and making the berth. As he did so he encountered the jar of salve; he looked at it in his palm, images from last night coming clear in his mind. His face burned in shame and, to his even greater shame: excitement. He knew he had taken her in her arsehole --- his body tingled reliving the singular sensations and sights of the act...
By and by he remembered the kettle and returned to the galley, a little giddy. He had a cup of tea and a piece of hard tack while he prepared a cup of tea for Anya.
With the steaming cup he knocked upon her door. "Anya?" No reply. Again he knocked without response. He tried the handle and found it unlocked. Upon entering he immediately almost tripped over the water basin, which was upon the floor with the pitcher and other bathing implements.
She was wrapped in a blanket, curled upon her side in the berth, facing away from him. "I have some tea for ye, Anya," he said quietly. She did not respond. He set the cup upon the desk and stepped closer to the berth. "Anya..." he murmured. She curled up more tightly.
He gazed at her back, then began again. "Anya, 'tis sorry I be for my conduct last night. I was a brute and a cad --- I could kill myself for how I hurt ye. Please forgive me."
He leaned against the side of the berth and tentatively reached his hand toward her. When he touched her hair, she turned her head further away. He stroked her tumbled hair, pulling entrapped locks out of the blanket. Suddenly a mark upon her neck caught his eye; he brushed the hair up from her nape and leaned closer. 'Twas a bruise. He drew the edge of the blanket down and stared in shock. Upon the nape of her neck were a purplish sucking mark and pink arcs of teeth prints --- one with broken skin. "Jesus! I'm sorry lass! I'm sorry. Dinna move."
Quickly he fetched the balm from his cabin. She was as he had left her. He placed the open jar upon her mattress and moved her hair and the blanket aside to apply balm to the wound. She lay motionless. With a sense of unease, he pulled the blanket further down. Her back was bare...to his dismay he discovered a light bruise between her shoulder blades.
"I'm sorry lass," he said again, his fingertips soothingly brushing over her skin. What the hell had he done? In consternation he drew the blanket completely off --- she was naked. More bruises were apparent. He swore at himself under his breath. "Let me tend to ye," he mumbled.
She resisted not as he rolled her onto her belly so more light shone upon her. He examined her. There was a series of hazy oval bruises upon her pale buttocks, with larger paired marks upon either side of the cleft --- clearly the marks of his fingers and thumbs. He softly rubbed her smooth, round cheeks, mortified at his boorishness. In trepidation, he carefully clasped her buttocks, avoiding the bruises, and spread her unresisting bottom open to inspect her anus.
What he saw first was a small cluster of faint bite marks upon her lower inner cheeks next to the opening. Jesus! He had been a bloody savage! None appeared to have pierced the skin. Her little hole itself appeared somewhat swollen, and a more vivid pink hue. To his relief he saw no blood and no rents.
Holding one cheek aside, he scooped up more balm. Her anus flinched when he touched it; she whimpered. Very gently he rubbed the balm generously into the little folds and the surrounding flesh, caressing the delicate, silky skin, feeling the firm ring of muscle. Taking another dollop, he placed the pad of his middle fingertip directly upon her opening and massaged and pressed upon it till his finger opened her sphincter and penetrated her arse.
He slowly twisted his finger in the constrictive aperture, rubbing the salve into it. He pushed in a little further and repeated the motions. His eyes were fixed in fascination upon the novel sight of his large, calloused finger up the bottom hole of a bonnie young lass. The hot slick grip, by turns fighting his intrusion then tugging him in, cast his mind back to the events of last night...he swallowed hard...his cock began to rise again in his trousers. Although she otherwise was still, he noticed the movement of her back with her breathing had quickened.
